A Rose by Any Other Name Would Smell as Foul
by Child of Mars
Summary: Takes place during the events of Skin Deep. For those of us who noticed the 'Rose' moving around during Belle's speech, well, maybe, just maybe, Rumplestiltskin did too. Maybe, just maybe, he decided to confront the rose about it. Rated K for silliness.


_**Author's Notes: I really don't know what I'm trying to say here. This hiatus is killing me and just...I've no idea where this came from. Please enjoy it, if you can! :)**_

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**A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell as Foul**

The late afternoon sunlight cast a warm, golden-bronze glow over the chestnut colored table. It seemed to set the red carpets on fire and throw a clear reflection of the dining room off of every metal surface. The room was bright and clean, while a single windowpane, sneakily propped open by the fire poker, let in a mild bit of breeze. The fresh air soared through the room, causing the tiny leaves on a rose stem to shiver ever so slightly. The light, the breeze, the shining surfaces…it was all Belle's doing.

Before she came to the Dark Castle, everything was veiled over by a heavy grey coating of dust. Thick brocade curtains, sometimes three layers of them, obscured every window. For all the light that came through there might as well have been solid brick walls behind them. Not a single beam of sunshine had ever been able to poke its way inside, not even through a hole the size of a finger. The only light came from dim, flickering candles; like weak, sickened fireflies trapped in an airless room.

When Belle came, she viciously scrubbed down every surface and tore the windows open, soaking the grimy glass and then wiping it clean. She was like a living tornado, driving away the dust and the stagnant, centuries old air that had been pooling high from wall to wall. She cleaned the glass, stored the candles away and let in the sun.

On the table, in an odd looking vase of gold, stood a solitary rose. The simplicity of the single flower didn't seem suited for that position of honor and prestige, not without ten or twenty brothers and sisters to give the display some meaning. Without this support, the rose tilted to one side at an ungainly angle that threw off the proportions of the entire table. Belle had too good an eye for beauty to leave it there unless it was a gift from her master, Rumplestiltskin.

But in reality it was so, so much more than just a gift.

As the sunlight climbed up the walls towards the roof as the sun set, it lovingly touched the rose. The blossom quivered, its leaves stretching themselves, reaching towards the warmth as the rose bowed its crimson head ever so slightly.

"Nyehehehehee…" a chilling giggle echoed from the doorway, piercing the air as a boot scuffed gleefully across the doorway. Suddenly, the rose was nothing more than a rose, still and lifeless.

With a thump, a red-waistcoated chest landed heavily on the tabletop and a pair of scaly hands triumphantly slapped the wood on either side of the vase, causing it to wobble slightly.

Rumplestiltskin laughed a little longer, enjoying the 'trembling' of the rose as his hot, excited breath rustled the little green leaves. "Caught ya, dearie…" with a long forefinger he poked it suddenly, right in the red, fleshy bud. "And don't try to hide it…I _saw_ you moving."

The rose made no sound. No quivering, no trembling. It was utterly still.

Irritated at being so blatantly ignored, Rumplestiltskin pinched it hard around the thin, green stem and turned it around, forcing it to face him. "Now, don't play games with me, you _know_ I'll win. Don't think I didn't notice how your little blossom twitched when she mentioned your name. You heard her, didn't you? Said she never could love someone as _superficial_ as _**you**_."

The rose said nothing.

Taking a moment to lick his lips with a nervous energy, the Imp leaned in to snarl, "And anyway, even if she hadn't rejected you, you've got no chance. You're nothing, nothing but a flower. Why, she picked you up and cut off the tip of you! Threw it in the dustbin…walks by you every day and never notices!"

Still, no answer. No reply. No defiant protests of valor or haughty challenges. A buzzing fly landed on the rose petals, twitching its tiny legs with confident ease as it sat less than a few centimeters from the glowering Dark One's nose.

Drat those open windows! That's what came of letting in fresh air. Rumplestiltskin clapped a hand on either side of the vase, holding it steady as he leaned beyond it and pointed his nose towards the window. He closed his eyes and sniffed deeply. With the fresh, crisp air came the scent of wildflowers in the meadows that stretched for miles all around the Dark Castle, the waterfall that ran cold and chilled from the snowy mountain peaks, and even the spicy scent of fairy-mushrooms toasting in the sun. The world was one giant nosegay at this time of year.

He always gave his horses free reign when it was warm, especially since a magical charm guarded the gate of the valley and spooked them away when they came too close. Instead, they chased each other through the wildflowers, trumpeting and boxing with their hooves until the victorious champions could gently approach the mares, nickering softly before disappearing under the trees. Hmm. _Belle_ would look beautiful out there, running in those fields with a crown of flowers in her hair as it glowed chestnut red in the sun and her blue dress skimmed across the flowers and….

_What? _He shook his head wildly, his dusky-brown hair flicking at his eyes and whipping his cheeks. A split second later and he stopped abruptly to glare at the rose, baring his yellow teeth in a snarl. Spring-fever nonsense wasn't going to distract him from this all-important confrontation.

"Does it irk you?" he smiled, waving a hand about languidly, feeling the power spark beneath his fingertips, etched like fire into his very bones. "Your big sword and ox-like strength, your arrogance and your blind confidence, all defeated in a single instance by one snap of my fingers?"

He snapped as if to prove his point. A purple cloud blossomed and then disappated just as quickly without any noticeable effect. His bluff had failed. The Imp's black, gold-flecked eyes narrowed suspiciously; he was certain the lower leaf had dipped downwards…just a little bit.

"It's no good hiding it from me!" He barked in rage, "You _moved_ all the way towards her as she spoke!"

The rose didn't answer, as impudent as it was quiet.

Rumplestiltskin drew one skinny, leather-clad leg onto the table and pulled himself up it suddenly, his bony knees thumping the wood. Towering above the rose, he snatched it up and out of the vase, spattering the room with water. "What if I took away your water?" he sneered, "hid you in some dusty corner. You're enchanted, so you'll never wither…but what would you do without _water_?"

The rose was courageous in its silence.

Disgusted, Rumplestiltskin dropped it back in with a _plink _sound. As he loomed over it, his black, sharp boots dug into the soft tabletop wood. He vaguely realized Belle would be furious about that if he left any marks. She might even forget her place and scold him like some common, careless man who'd made yet another senseless mess for her to clean up.

Then he'd have to put her in her place, there'd be shouting, argument…and he'd be left spending the day alone, brooding in his dark laboratory, banished from the sight of _her_, a sight that filled him with energy, interest, and even a feeling of peace. He didn't want that to happen today…gods knew it had already happened twice this week.

Belle grew bolder with the sun. Hardly worth her keep, the troublesome girl.

He quickly slid to his belly and lifted his feet off the table until they were kicking in the air. Where was he? Oh yes, Gaston.

He pulled himself forward on his arms until his face was mere centimeters away; close enough to smell the rose's beautiful perfume. "You never realized just how…_precious… _your betrothed was, did you? Never looked beyond her face, never saw the little _hero_ there. You coveted her only as the _perfect_ piece to fit into your _perfect_ little life. You only came to get her because I…" he giggled suddenly, but his eyes burned, "I _stole_ her...from _**you**_!" His eyes widening in comical shock, he covered his mouth with one scaly hand and gasped dramatically.

Unamused, the rose glared at him. Rumplestiltskin felt it and jealous hatred rushed through his veins like fire. "Well," his lips curled in a feriocious snarl and he twisted like an eel, his nose almost touching the red tip of the rose as he pulled his chest higher up, balancing on the palms of his hands like a seal straining to reach its trumpet. "You'll _never_ get her back. You hear me?" His spittle graced the rose with shining drops, "Never, never, _never_!"

"Rumplestiltskin!"

It was a new voice, a woman's voice, clear and sweet with an accent Rumplestiltskin could never forget. Belle, duster in one hand and a candlestick in the other, stared open mouthed at her dread lord and master who was perched on the table on all fours, growling and barking at her flower like a deranged, overgrown terrier trying to lure an insect or…_something_ out of the rose's red depths.

The Dark One froze like a deer in the headlights. The suspicious, frantic rage had dropped from his face when the first note of her voice hit his ear. The rest of him was still locked into position as he stared dumbly at her, suspended on the table. He was as immovable and unspoken as the rose itself except for the telltale trembling in his arms.

He wondered vaguely if there was a spell for restoring dignity, or for the removal of individal memories from the mind of his maid, who was even now staring at him with that impudent curiosity, as if every single layer of his life had been ripped away and she truly saw him for the first time as something human…human and ridiculous.

Thankfully, the moment didn't last. With a sudden spurt of temper, Belle threw the duster down and stalked forward, jabbing a finger at him. Unknown to the Dark One, however, one side of her mouth curled up ever so slightly, fighting to hold down the smile and the laughter that tickled her insides without mercy.

"Your boots!" bodly, she promptly slapped said offending items, "Your boots are _digging_ into the table!"

Ah. That was a clear accusation. That was something he could react to. With a rapid, clumsy motion he slid stiffly to his feet, twisting away from her as she swept her hand over the surface of the table, checking the damage. He was suddenly irritated that the very argument he'd been trying to avoid had overtaken him. Rubbing his nose with one hand he spoke to her, his tone sharp and sulking. "I can do what I like, it's _my_ castle!"

"Of course it is. And it's _my_ job to take care of it!" Belle shot back, straightening and putting the candlestick down like a soldier preparing for a fight. Mock fury sparkled in her big blue eyes and her red lips fluttered like a pair of scarlet butterflies as she scolded him roundly. Somehow, Rumplestilskin found himself staring dreamily into those eyes, blue and wide and bright with azure fire. He didn't hear a single word until she suddenly stamped her foot with indignation. "Rumplestiltskin! Goodness, what's gotten into you?"

Rumplestiltskin blinked. His voice grew sharp as he tried to regain control of himself and the situation. "What business is it of yours, girl?"

Belle's lovely lips tightened, the blue eyes that so fascinated him turned cold. There. He'd done it. "If that's how you feel, _sir_, then I'll just go finish cleaning up the hall." She turned and started striding out, swinging her arms as she walked, head held high.

Panic-stricken, Rumplestiltskin took a few jittery steps after her, the idea of ordering or forcing her to stay never crossing his mind. Widly, he looked around the room for someone or something to blame.

From the table, the rose quivered triumphantly.

Rumplestiltskin growled and pointed warningly at it. "We're not _done_, dearie!" he growled before rushing off after Belle. He had to find out which room she was cleaning next, so he could get there ahead of her and put some marvel there, a book or enchanted artifact that would fascinate her and make her happy again.

After this was achieved, he would nonchalantly bring his wheel into the room and start spinning casually, oh so casually…no hurry, he'd planned to do it all along. Then, if he was quiet and gave her time to gather her thoughts, she'd talk to him again. Not that he craved the sound of her voice or the sight of her face or even just the _feeling_ of having her in the same room…it was just that…good help wasn't just hard to find. It was hard to keep happy.

Of course, Belle's happiness didn't matter to him in the slightest. It was simply the fact that if she wasn't happy then she wouldn't work well. Inneficient as well as mouthy. If she was going to be so much trouble, he might as well make it easier on himself. He should at least stay on speaking terms with his staff. Those were his reasons, his _only_ reasons, of course.

At least, the ones he gave himself.

FINIS


End file.
